


Listening

by flaming_muse



Category: Glee
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 01:38:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt made more than one phone call on Thanksgiving.</p><p>canonical, set within 4x08 ("Thanksgiving"), no spoilers beyond</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listening

It took Kurt a moment to re-settle into himself after he stepped out onto the fire escape. Laughter and music were still spilling out of the window beside him, but the cool splash of night air on his face and the suddenly louder sounds of the city street below were enough of a change to make him feel like he'd walked miles instead of mere feet away from their impromptu Thanksgiving party. It was almost a different world.

He filled his lungs and blew them out, making a little moue of distaste at the odors wafting from the dumpster in the alley - there were some parts of city life he was never going to get used to, no matter how long he lived there - and walked further out, turning the corner and sitting down on the cold stairs. The metal tread immediately began to bleed its chill through his jeans, but it was almost a nice counterpoint to the crowded, overheated, raucous environment of his apartment.

Clutching his phone in his hand, Kurt looked out at the street, filling his eyes with New York. It was the city of his dreams, full of promise and hope, full of fabulous and fashionable people (some of whom were right behind him dancing on his kitchen table), full of everything he had ever wanted. Having lived in it for a few months and learned the rhythms in the cacophony of its traffic, the frustration of its pedestrian traffic jams just where he needed to walk, and the annoying routine of its two am trash pick-ups hadn't dimmed his loved for the city; in a way, it had made it stronger, because New York wasn't a dream anymore but a very vivid reality that he was figuring out to navigate. He was fitting in. He was finding his place. He was _creating_ his place.

He was throwing his very first New York adult holiday party at that very moment, and his entree into the New York social scene was apparently a roaring success.

And yet, as much as he was enjoying the whirl of people dancing in his living room and the new traditions he and Rachel were blending with the favorite bits of those from their childhoods, he still needed a break on the fire escape to try to get his heart to stop aching in his chest, because he couldn't stop being aware for more than a few minutes at a time that he wasn't in Ohio.

He couldn't help but compare this party with its wild characters and even wilder clothes with the warm family meal around the dining room table he'd shared with his dad, Carole, and Finn last year. He'd helped Finn to set the table and had made the side dishes and desserts beside Carole in the kitchen while his dad had yelled good-naturedly at the TV, and when it was time to eat they'd all gathered together with overloaded plates at the table and heaped praise on Carole for the smoothness of the gravy and the moistness of her turkey, even if she hadn't been willing to see the wisdom of Kurt's suggestion of brining it beforehand.

And then after the meal was finished and the dishes were all washed, Blaine had come over, and Kurt had greeted him with a kiss at the door and a feeling of contentment in his heart at having him there. They'd shared a piece of pie at the kitchen table, and Kurt had basked in the happiness in his smile and the love in his eyes, so completely _sure_ of Blaine -

Kurt squared his jaw, lifted his phone, and pressed a number in his address book. He _wasn't_ doing that to himself anymore. No more dwelling. No more hurting. That was all done.

The call picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Hi, Dad," Kurt said, the words coming out breathily as he smiled just to hear that familiar, comforting voice on the other end of the line. He _missed_ him, and as wonderfully as his night was going it just felt wrong without his dad there, too. Well, not _there_ , because he could only imagine what his father would think of Isabelle's crowd of friends, but it felt wrong not being together, even if being apart was what growing up was about. It still didn't sit well in his heart to have to start cutting those ties to people he loved.

"Kurt," his dad said, his own smile evident. There was the sound of the television being muted and Carole's light laughter somewhere in the background. "How's your meal going there? Nothing catch fire?"

"No," Kurt assured him with a laugh. "Everything's fine. I'm sorry if I'm interrupting the game."

"That's why God created the pause button for the DVR, kid. You taught me that."

Kurt laughed, leaning against the railing beside him as a wave of fondness and longing swept over him. A car honked down the block, and a burst of laughter came from a group of women walking by on the sidewalk.

"Where are you?" his dad asked. "Sounds like you're playing in traffic in the middle of a disco."

"I'm out on the fire escape," Kurt said. He glanced over at the window, watching the shadows and light swirling as his guests danced in the room beyond. "It's... very busy inside right now."

"If things get out of hand, you know you can always call the cops on your own party. They'll come break it up for you."

Kurt laughed again, half touched by the concern and half horrified by the thought of calling the police on his own boss. _That_ was one certain way to get fired. "It's fine, Dad. I promise. I just needed a little air."

"Okay," his dad said, still sounding a it suspicious. "So then what's going on that's got you out on the fire escape instead of inside with your friends? Everything all right?"

Kurt swallowed and nodded, though it wasn't like his dad could see him. "It's fine," he said more quietly. "But it's Thanksgiving. And I miss you."

Even with the noise around him, he could hear his father sigh. "We miss you, too, Kurt," he said. "I'm happy you're out there living your own life, getting that New York dream of yours, but I got to admit it's not the same here, either. Though your brother has set out to eat your share of the food so we don't get too bogged down with leftovers. Or in the case of the mashed potatoes, seconds."

"Please thank him for me," Kurt said, trying to match his father's dry tone as best he could. He knew it was his choice that they were apart, and he shouldn't make it more difficult.

It was his choice to be alone. He wanted it this way. He shouldn't be aching like he was.

"Your turkey turn out good?" his dad asked.

"I haven't had any," Kurt admitted.

"No turkey on Thanksgiving?"

"Watching Rachel and Brody make it took some of my appetite away," Kurt said, trying not to think too much about how they had been molesting that poor bird, "and we had more guests than I'd expected, so I'm trying to stretch the food as far as it can go."

"You've always been good at making it work. I still don't know how you threw together those last minute campaign cocktail parties."

Kurt smiled to himself with pride at the memory, although of course he'd had another pair of hands to help him, even if Blaine had been so _terrible_ at getting the canapes -

He ruthlessly cut off that thought. "I think it's going well." He let his eyes drift back to the open window leading back into his new home. He could just see two people dancing in fabulous dresses and throwing their heads back with laughter, and he was pretty sure only one of them was a drag queen. "It's actually sort of fabulously amazing in the way I'd always dreamed New York could be," he said with some wonder, "at least in dreams from my chic bohemian potluck dance party phase."

"Sounds real different from here," his dad said after a minute. He sounded almost sad, like he felt out of his depth but like he was trying not to show it.

"Yeah," Kurt said softly, feeling his eyes start to prickle with tears that he made himself blink away. It was just the sort of thing he'd dreamed of, but it felt strange to have it. It wasn't what he'd grown up with. It wasn't family. Besides Rachel, the party wasn't full of people who cared about him or even knew him, and he hadn't known he could feel lonely with so many people around him in his own apartment.

"I'm proud of you, Kurt. I'm proud of you, finding your way there, even though it means I've got to miss you while you're doing it."

"I miss you, too, Dad. And home."

"You'll be back for Christmas," his dad said, and it wasn't quite a question.

"Yes," Kurt said with a nod, though it was hard to think about Christmas without thinking about past ones, and that meant thinking about _Blaine_ , and how could he go back to Ohio _again_ with Blaine _everywhere_ when he was supposed to be moving _on_ and -

"Have you talked to him yet?" his dad asked quietly, easily, like it wasn't lobbing a grenade at the delicate walls Kurt was trying so hard to erect around his feelings.

"What?" Kurt's heart pounded in his chest, fast and panicked, although he was sure he hadn't said any of his thoughts aloud.

"Kurt, I might not be able to figure out Angry Birds or how to get that fancy new toaster to work - "

"It's a mini oven," Kurt reminded him, "and all you have to do is read the display."

"But there's one thing I do know a hell of a lot about," his dad continued. He never did stop when he had his mind set on something. "And that's you."

Kurt drew in a shaking breath, tried to pull himself together, and looked out into the night. His father waited for him, not saying anything, until Kurt finally broke the silence in a wobbling voice. "Dad, he cheated on me." His heart felt like it was shredded anew just thinking about it.

"I know," his dad said gently. "And that's no small thing, Kurt. I know that. Seems to me, though, you're hurting about more than that."

"I'm trying to move on," Kurt told him. "I'm supposed to be moving on."

"Supposed to. Says who?"

"You mean besides every romantic comedy, _Cosmo_ article, and self help book known to man?" Kurt said thickly.

"Since when did you ever care about other people's rules?" his dad asked. "You've always made your own."

Kurt closed his eyes for a moment; it would have been a lot easier if his father were telling him to cut Blaine out of his life like a cheater deserved, but his dad had always spoken from his heart, even when it wasn't convenient. That's where Kurt had learned to do it. "I know," he said. "But I can't forgive him. I _can't_."

"You don't have to," his dad said. "But I've seen the two of you with my own eyes for years now, and breaking up isn't something you do and just get over, not when you have what you do."

"Did," Kurt corrected him in a low voice. "He broke my heart, Dad. And it doesn't stop hurting."

"It'll only stop if you stop loving him," his dad replied, the words settling sharp deep in Kurt's chest. "I know it's not the same thing, but your mother being gone still hurts _me_. Hearts do what they do, Kurt. You can't change 'em or stop 'em. You just have to decide how you can live with 'em."

Kurt wanted to stop loving Blaine. He wanted to stop thinking about him. He wanted to stop missing him. He wanted to stop picking up his phone to call him or text him when something happened. He wanted to stop thinking about him when he was falling asleep at night or waking up in the morning. He wanted to stop thinking about him at all. But he wasn't, he wasn't stopping, he hurt and hurt and hurt and still missed Blaine just as much as he ever did. He missed talking to him. He missed having him as his friend. He missed _Blaine_.

"I don't know what to do," Kurt admitted.

"What do you want?" his dad asked. "Down at the bottom of it all, what do you want?"

Ducking his head, Kurt swallowed, leaned forward with his elbow on his thigh, and said in a voice clogged with tears he was _not_ going to let out, "I want it not to have happened."

"Yeah," said his dad with a sad laugh. "I know, kid. But if wishes were horses..."

"I would have gotten that horse-drawn carriage for my ninth birthday like I asked," Kurt finished for him.

His dad laughed again. "Still holding onto that, huh?" He grew more serious when he continued, "But that's you. You don't let things go easily when you love them."

"Maybe I need to learn how to do that," Kurt replied and pushed himself back upright, trying to be determined.

"Your heart's what makes you you, Kurt," his dad said slowly. "I'd be real careful about giving up on it."

"I'm not giving up on it, Dad," Kurt said. "But it's _over_ with Blaine, and I need to move on. I _am_ moving on."

"And how's that working for you?" his dad asked, and Kurt could hear the humor laced with love and frustration in his voice. It stopped him from snapping back a hard retort.

Kurt breathed in through his nose and looked out at the street. Cars passed, people, a blur of sound and light. "It's not," he finally admitted. "Isabelle says I need to accept his apology before I can."

"How do you feel about that?" The question was low, deliberate in that not very subtle way his father had to try to draw him out.

"I'm not ready to forgive him," Kurt said, helpless in the face of the reality of his heart, as much as he wanted to feel differently. He'd take hating Blaine, forgiving him, falling back into his arms, stopping caring entirely, anything over the agonized push-pull of his feelings. "I can't. I don't know how. He broke my heart, and I never thought he would, not _him_. I miss him, Dad, so much, but I _can't_ just let it go." The betrayal caught in his throat and made it hard to breathe, not as sharp and awful as the first moment he'd felt it but impossible to ignore, nonetheless.

"All right," his dad said, like it was easy, like any of it was. "So don't. You don't have to. Nobody's got any say over that but you. But maybe think about what you do want to have, what you can, and go from there. Listen to your heart. Because it sounds like what you're doing isn't working, either."

Kurt took that in, thought about how much he hurt, how much he felt like he was missing not having Blaine in his life, and thought about what it would feel like to have a little of him back. Not as his boyfriend, he just couldn't do that now, but as his friend, as someone to text with and talk to, someone to _know_ him and care about him the way Blaine always had, someone to do things with, maybe. He thought about what it would feel like to hear Blaine talking about his own ups and downs in his ear instead of news being filtered through other friends, to hear Blaine laugh or fret, to be able to celebrate with him or sympathize with him. He thought about what it would be like to be able to talk with Blaine about Sectionals or being class president or the machinations of the Warblers instead of trying to pretend he didn't care about them.

He thought about what it would feel like to be able to talk to Blaine about what had happened between them, as awful as it might be, because part of the horror of what had happened was that he hadn't just lost his boyfriend but that he'd lost _Blaine_ entirely, and that was such a huge gaping hole in his life and his heart he didn't know how to recover from it.

But maybe he didn't have to recover from it entirely. Maybe there was something that could be fixed. Even just thinking it made something in his stomach ease with relief. Just the thought of being able to talk to Blaine, as hard and awkward as it would probably be, as much as he knew he should be cutting him off and not looking back, made him feel so _good_.

His dad was right. 'Should' didn't matter. He had never cared about other people's rules, and if he wasn't going to get over Blaine then he needed to find a way to have him in his life that wasn't going to destroy either of them. He didn't know what that was exactly, but he knew that together they could figure anything out.

 _Almost anything_ a voice deep in his heart supplied.

"You're right," Kurt told his father as a plan started to form in his head. It wasn't going to be easy, in fact it would probably hurt a lot to do it, but it might be right. He could try to see he and Blaine could make something of themselves right. "This isn't working." He took a slow breath and wished he could sink into his dad's arms and draw strength from him before he took a step that was sure to wound his heart again before he felt better, because as much as it ached to be cut off from Blaine it was absolutely going to make him bleed to talk to him and be with him and have only a portion of what they used to have.

But wishes weren't horses, and he couldn't go back to what they used to be, so he would have to make the best of what he could get. He was used to doing that, after all. He might not have expected to turn those skills toward Blaine, but he could still do it.

Kurt watched the shadows of the dancers in his apartment spin past the windows, distended, abstract, alien shapes. The music pouring out onto the fire escape switched to a song he didn't know, countless strangers in his living room cheered and took up the beat, but his father's steady breathing didn't change. He was still there, ready to listen and help, no matter how far away he was.

With a mixture of longing and gratitude, Kurt said softly, "Thanks, Dad."

"Any time, Kurt," his dad said. "I'm always here for you."

Kurt nodded, his throat tightening. It wasn't the same as it used to be when he was at home. It was never going to be. But it could still be good enough. It still meant something. It was still special. "I know."

Neither of them spoke for a minute, and then his dad cleared his throat and said, "You want to talk to Carole? She's around here somewhere."

"I do, but... I have another call to make."

Kurt thought his father might object, given that it was a holiday, but instead he said, "Okay. You do that. Good luck."

"Thank you. I love you," Kurt told him.

"Love you, too. Call anytime."

"I will. And I'll see you at Christmas," Kurt promised.

"Sounds good," his dad said, his voice going a little rough. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving, Dad," Kurt said and ended the call before he could get choked up, too.

Kurt closed his eyes and turned the phone over in his hands, calming and steeling himself. His stomach fluttered with nerves, but he ignored them as well as he could, because he knew that even with Sectionals going on right then, even with all that had passed between them, Blaine would take his call. Blaine would always take his call, because it wasn't Blaine who had ever stopped reaching toward him.

Kurt loved that about him, too, as hard as it was. He just had to figure out how far he could reach back.

But he was going to reach back, he had to, because not doing it was keeping him from going anywhere at all, and because not only could he move forward if he did this but he could do it with _Blaine_ , who was his best friend, who made him laugh and think and grow, who knew him in a way that no one else in his life did.

And no matter how hurt he was and would be, that was just too important to lose.

Blaine was too important.

Kurt waited for a taxi to honk its way past the building, took another breath, and scrolled to a number he'd dialed so many times over the past years and had wanted so desperately to be able to dial again over the past months.

It was a huge step to take to touch his thumb to the screen, but he reminded himself that he'd never been afraid of doing hard things, only that he was doing the right things. As much as it would be easier if it weren't, this was absolutely the right thing to do for them both, because he knew how much his refusal to talk was hurting Blaine, too, and if he was listening to his heart he didn't want that, either. He cared too much to want him to hurt. He was always going to care.

His heart aching with a mixture of emotions he wished were so much more simple, Kurt called Blaine.

**Author's Note:**

> Reminder: I am spoiler-free, so please don't mention anything about upcoming episodes! Thank you!


End file.
